


If you love me, maybe I can love myself.

by orphan_account



Category: GOT7
Genre: Blood, Choi Youngjae-centric, Eating Disorders, Fainting, Hopeful Ending, Other, Self-Hatred, Vomiting, i love youngjae that's why i hurt him, idols are as well, pls don't hate me, read with caution, we're all beautiful people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 14:11:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12483448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "All he can see is the way he falters, the lack of power in his movements, the way the fat on his thigh moves as he moves, and suddenly the sickness that he had felt this morning resurfaces."Youngjae doesn't like himself.But it's okay. It's what he deserves.WARNINGS:please, if you have suffered with self-hatred or depression in the past or do right now, read with caution if at all. you are all beautiful people and I can't bear the thought of you hurting <3other than that, read the tags





	If you love me, maybe I can love myself.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I should be writing chapters for my other fic, but I'm honestly into a lot of groups and Got7 is one. I was scrolling through comments on old videos and saw one person who apparently thought Youngjae was ugly, couldn't dance and needed to lose weight, so I may have gotten angry and written this to show that THOSE KIND OF THINGS AFFECT PEOPLE AND IDOLS ARE HUMAN AS WELL.

The best part of not eating, Youngjae finds, is the painful hunger pangs that accompany it. The constant reminders that he can feel, that he is alive, managing to keep his head above the dark dangerous waves of self-hatred that threaten to swallow him every minute of every day. He deserves that pain; he’s not good enough or talented enough or handsome enough, he’s not skinny and attractive like Mark; he’s not muscular and funny like Jackson. He’s not talented in languages like Bam Bam- people constantly make fun of him for his English-, he’s not good at dancing like Yugyeom, he’s not charismatic like Jaebum, and he can barely handle waking himself up, let alone looking after the members like Jinyoung so naturally did.

Youngjae just wasn’t.

He wanted to be, he’d tried to be- when he was a trainee, however short the amount of time, he would race to the studio in the early morning hours to practise their routines, with a bottle of water convincing his stomach he was full, changing clothes when the others arrived to hide the sweat running down his back and his chest. He would stay up until late at night, practising his singing, knowing how he wanted to sound but never quite hitting the right notes, or getting the right tone. Youngjae had memorised the room he practised in; faded blue walls with hints of reds poking through, alluding to its previous shade. It looked and smelt stale and old, some metal chairs stacked in a corner collecting dust. The room had no emotional connections to Youngjae; it was a memorisation due to the amount of time that he had spent there.

It was the room that wasn’t quite right filled with the voice was wasn’t quite right.

Or maybe Youngjae just wasn’t quite right. He’d been told when he entered the company he’d have to lose a lot of weight to even be considered for putting in a group, let alone debuting. Youngjae had never enjoyed the look of his body, the curves in places he disliked and the teasing calls of skinny people his age in school who didn’t understand why Youngjae didn’t look like them- but being told that for his so-called talent to have a chance to be shown, he would have to change his entire appearance merely proved to him just how unattractive he was. 

How unwanted.

And the fact that he’d agreed to this selling of his body and his voice and almost all his privacy showed how needy he was. He deserved to be in pain and be ugly and unwanted- that’s what whiny, attention-seeking fattos get.

And if Youngjae woke up with tears dried on his cheeks in the morning, no-one had to know. After all, he deserved it.  
⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯

 

Youngjae wakes to the ringing of an alarm clock. It’s consistent beeping sort of makes him want to throw up and pop both of his eardrums by hand, but he manages to snake an arm around the corner of the bed that he’s been sleeping on for the last few months. When his brother mentioned he’d be moving near to their dorm, Youngjae had jumped on the idea of moving in with him. Anything to become less of a burden to his members- he’d been sleeping on the couch for a few weeks previously to give them space away from him, and once he’d moved out Jaebum had been able to move his three cats in. It had hurt at first, being so easily replaced, but Youngjae had since come to terms with the fact that he meant less than three cats to Jaebum- in fact, to all his members.

It was okay. He couldn’t blame them. 

He sat up slowly, wiping the sleep from his dreary eyes, and considered just not getting up. Why should he? He was worth nothing, so what contribution would it make to anyone’s day for him to get up? He was shocked awake, however, when his older brother burst through his bedroom door, looking at him disgustedly.

“Get up, fatass. You know, you should follow that diet the company recommended- maybe if you lost some weight you wouldn’t look so damn ugly.”

His brother was right, he wasn’t following that diet, he’d opted for and even smaller one of 600 calories a day. That way he could lose weight quicker. He’d felt light-headed in practise recently, but that was only because his body wasn’t used to it. Once he did he was sure it would go away, along with the shaky legs and nosebleeds he’d gotten. It would all go away soon, he was sure of it. 

It had to.

He watched his brother’s back retreat behind his bedroom door before pushing back the covers and sitting up, rather disorientated. He pulled on his most flattering sweater and trousers- who was he kidding, just because the jumper’s oversized it doesn't mean that people won’t find out how fat he is- and chugs a glass of water in the kitchen before heading outside to the car where his brother was waiting. His brother makes small talk on the way to the JYP Building, and Youngjae wonders when his brother got so good at pretending he doesn’t hate him. It’s almost like they’re normal brothers- exchanging witty remarks on the way to work with his big brother to take care of him- but the reality is both the people in the car hate one person, and Youngjae’s brother would literally rather skin himself than be forced to look after him. But that was okay, Youngjae deserved that as well. It was his fault, after all.

After roughly 15 minutes of this idyllic chatter, the car pulled up behind JYP Seoul and his brother all but kicked him out of the vehicle. Youngjae picked up his duffel bag filled with water and a change of clothes and jumped out, slamming the car door behind him, after which his brother drove away quickly. He sighed, and headed for the door, muscle memory leading him down corridors and past rooms until he reached Got7’s practice room. He hadn’t slept well last night, having tossed and turned in bed till the early hours of the morning, and it was coming back to bite him now. He regretted not having picked up a protein shake- they were low in calories, but they gave him a little more energy when he was feeling low, but it was too late now. It was his fault for being lazy and not practising early this morning. He could have easily walked- in fact, it would have burned him a lot of calories.

His long fingers rest around the handle to the door of his training room, and he pushes down and outwards to get the door to open. The other members are having fun, dancing around to music and laughing with each other, and they barely spare a glance as he walks in. He’s always felt like the odd one out- the one who trained for such a short amount of time, meaning when they would share funny stories from their trainee days he would just sit and smile like he knew what was going on. The only one without a same-age member, leaving him with socially induced barriers with the elders, as he felt a need to show respect, and the youngest two feeling that same disconnect with him. The little odd-ball that didn’t quite fit in. Still, the relationships that he had with them were a far cry from his family, who had refused to acknowledge him after he insisted he would become a singer.

He steps into the sweat-smelling room, eyes carefully avoiding the long mirrors that line one of the walls, dumping his duffle bag into a corner and sitting down on a chair. Seconds later, their choreographer strides in, and he is immediately back on his feet. The man lightly scolds the others for messing around, but no one can stay angry at them for long, so they’re soon off the hook. It’s a sharp contrast from the hour-long scoldings Youngjae receives, and a sharp flash of jealousy quickly flares through him before he can get it under control. The music is played through the speakers in the corners of the room, and Youngjae is forced to look at himself in the mirror.

And god, is he disgusted. All he can see is the way he falters, the lack of power in his movements, the way the fat on his thigh moves as he moves, and suddenly the sickness that he had felt this morning resurfaces. His legs start shaking, and the choreographer just wants repeat after repeat of the choreo, and he’s shaking all over before long. It’s in the eight- or is it the ninth? - run-through that the dark spots begin to cloud his vision. He starts slowing down, which the choreographer picks up on, shouting at him to “Work harder!” and “Sharpen up!”, and the sweat is running in rivulets down his back while he sees the frustrated look his leader sends him.

And the black spots that had formed in the corners of his vision grow and his sight tunnels before his limbs crash to the ground.

The confusion that follows is immediate- their teacher quickly runs to turn off the music, while Jinyoung shakes Youngjae gently to try and wake him up. The rest of the members are stood around him in a circle, all looking nervous and worried. Jaebum takes control of the situation, telling Jinyoung to sit Youngjae up and lean him on his chest, and for Mark to grab some water for Youngjae. However, he’s still in a state of shock at what just happened, so it’s up to Jackson, Bam Bam and Yugyeom to wake him. After a few slaps to the cheek, said boy’s eyelashes start fluttering, and open. They search for a place to look but seem to focus on nothing, almost as though he was looking through things not at them, and manages to sit still for a second before he’s heaving and gagging. Yugyeom, being closest to the bin, grabs it and places it in front of him, rubbing his back as he throws up liquids and nothing else. 

Their choreographer cancels the rest of practice, and, when his shaky limbs allow him to carry himself, Youngjae and the other members walk out to the car Mark drives the others back to the dorm in. Youngjae feels woozy, as though there’s a layer of cotton wool over all his thoughts, and it’s honestly driving him crazy, so he clings to Jackson the whole ride, who is more than willing to provide comfort. He notices Mark is driving them back to his brother’s house and not their dorm, and is confused for a moment before he remembers the cats he was replaced with. His brother was on a trip anyway; he’d be spending a few days in Gangnam with some of his colleaugues, leaving the house empty. 

They soon stopped at his brother’s front door; Youngjae unzipped his duffel bag and rummaged around until he found a key. He opened the car door, murmuring a soft thankyou to all his members before Jaebum spoke up, “Youngjae-ah. You can tell us anything, okay? We’ll always love you, no matter what.” Youngjae turned on his heel from where he was stood facing his door, looking his leader straight in the eyes before replying, “Of course, hyung.” At this the members all visibly relaxed and sent warm smiles to him. “Rest a lot, we don’t want you fainting again hyung!” Shouted Bam Bam. He waved his hand dismissively before they rolled up the windows and slowly drove off. The smile that was gracing Youngjae’s features started to fade away.

Liar.

Liars like you don’t deserve to have good friends like them. 

 

⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯

He shut the front door behind him, stood still in the hallway leading to the interior of the apartment. He’s not sure what he can do now- he can’t have his protein shake, he’ll surely just throw it back up again, he can’t exercise for risk of fainting again. As much as Youngjae hates himself, he doesn’t want to die.

He just wants to be perfect.

He steps through the large room, over the scratchy rugged placed on the floor and sits down on the faux-leather couch, and contemplates.

He supposes he started wanting to be perfect when he started considering auditioning to be an idol. He’d researched the best ways to charm the judges, but after multiple failed attempts (he’d honestly gotten sick of hearing that his voice was good, but something was just overall lacking) he decided to google existing idols and find how they’d made it. He was met by photos of perfectly-proportioned attractive men and women, and he could immediately distinguish what was wrong with him.

He couldn’t change his ugly face, however- all he could do was try and diet and hopefully they would look past that.

3 months later, he was accepted to JYP Entertainment, and Youngjae had learnt what was needed from him.

⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯

He didn’t faint the next day in dance practice. It was a victory for him- proving wrong the people who said he shouldn’t, because he had to exercise, had to lose the fat from that extra apple that he shouldn’t have had. In fact, he didn’t faint for a whole week, and he basked in the pleased smiles of the staff members praising him for his speedy weight loss, however much he felt it just wasn’t quite enough yet.

He was so busy being smug that he didn’t notice the worried gazes his members sent at him, didn’t notice the way they had totalled up what he ate every day, how long he practised dance and singing and their horrified reactions to it.

He didn’t notice they cared.

Until the next dance practice. Youngjae felt fine. He hadn’t eaten in three days, not even protein shakes because he wanted to lose more weight and he wasn’t doing it fast enough. But he was okay. A little lethargic, but that was to be expected.

Their choreographer, however, clearly didn’t agree. 

“Yah! Choi Youngjae! Do you think you’re better than the others?” He shook his head meekly. “Then why aren’t you working hard, huh? You think you don’t need to, you’re already good enough? Well, let me tell you something- you’re letting down this team. You can’t dance, but you can belt out a few notes, and you think that makes you good enough to not work hard?” the other members stood silently, sending Youngjae worried looks which he couldn’t see. Jinyoung opened his mouth as if he were about to speak up, before closing it after a warning glare from the choreographer.

Youngjae lowered his head further, again shaking his head. He didn’t know why he was tearing up- he knew all that already, so why did it hurt him?

“Honestly, if I were in charge of the team you’d be gone by now. I can’t believ…” and then his voice was fading, muffled by a sharp ringing in his ears, and there were two angry men stood wavily in front of him, wobbling about and waving their hands as if trying to gain his attention. 

His legs dropped to the ground, arms holding his torso up, and he started retching onto the floor. The choreographer stood in shock while Yugyeom and Mark tried to get Youngjae to focus on them, but stopped when they saw what Youngjae’s body was dispelling.

Youngjae looked down too, confused, before realising why they had stopped and laughing quietly. Blood. He was vomiting blood. That was good, right? It meant he didn’t have any fattening food left in his stomach, nothing to add to the belt of fat around his stomach. And then he was gagging again, choking and the blood got onto his shirt while the members stared on with horror. Jinyoung quickly told someone to phone for an ambulance while Jackson stood pulling his hair and swearing softly in Chinese as if he didn’t want to startle the vomiting boy.

Jaebum was rubbing his back soothingly as he gagged up the last bloody phlegm, body racked with shakes and his head blazing with feverish heat. Jinyoung was sat next to the leader, biting his lip, and their choreographer was worriedly speaking to someone on the phone- Youngjae assumed hazily that it was the ambulance that Jinyoung had begged for. Mark and Yugyeom were still sat in his line of vision, both looking to be on the verge of tears. Bam Bam had run for his towel, and was tenderly wiping up the blood running down Youngjae’s chin.

Their choreographer dropped his phone after ending the call and grabbed Youngjae by the chin, gently forcing him to look at him.

“Listen- I’m so sorry, ok? I had a bad day, I took it out on you, I meant none of it. I know it’s not an excuse, but…” He turned his head to the side, eyes raking down and up Youngjae’s shivering form, and murmured, “Youngjae. Stay awake, okay? Don’t go falling asleep on me.”

Youngjae merely nodded his head in agreement and forgiveness (he deserves it, he deserves all of it) and desperately tries to keep his droopy eyelids from falling.

 

He was scared.

 

He didn’t want to die.

 

And in the rush of paramedics running in, and being loaded onto a wailing flashing ambulance, lying on a foldable rattling metal frame bed, Youngjae realised that.

⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯⚯

He’d arrived back at his brother’s house apprehensively with the labels anorexic and depressed hanging over his head like a plague. He’d stepped in and explained, and gotten called a freak. 

He’d argued back, knowing that he wasn’t those things and he merely wanted to look good, and found himself in a shouting argument that left him with a backpack full of clothes slung over his shoulder and a wallet that was almost completely empty.

It was late evening, there were no hotels near him, and he didn’t feel like bothering people anymore, so Youngjae found himself shivering on the local park’s bench. His breath fogged the air around him, fingers turning blue as he covered his nose from the stench of petrol fumes. He was sorely underdressed in jeans and a sweater.

He’d turned his phone off a while ago, getting annoyed by the incessant buzzing, and it sat as a deadweight in his pocket. Youngjae couldn’t help but compare himself to it- useless when off (which was all the time for Youngjae, he’d self-unplugged his emotions as a trainee so he could do better), always bothering others.

He didn’t jump when a hand clenched around his shoulder; didn’t have to look up to know exactly who it was. He made no movement as a coat was wrapped around his shoulders by their leader, following along as he was pulled along the streets.

“Youngjae. We’ve, uh- I sent the cats to live with a friend who lives near us. I can see them all the time still, so… please, move back in with us?” 

He couldn’t- they didn’t want him, it was fake, they were making fun of him—

Soft fingers threading through his, soft brown eyes wet with unshed sadness, soft chocolate hair peeking out from beneath a beanie, cheeks dusted a light pink from cold.

“Please. We miss you, all of us.”

 

And Youngjae realised that, while he may not love himself, he had six men waiting for him that did. Maybe if they loved him, he could learn to love himself.

All he needed was a little help.

**Author's Note:**

> according to an unknown source, if enough people are interested, the mysterious snail with a taco as a shell will take any ideas in the comments and write a follow-up
> 
> (do people throw up blood? is that a thing when they have no solids or liquids left in their stomach? i'm not taking biology, shoot me)


End file.
